


These Broken, Shattered Things

by pure_vibranium_heart (orphan_account)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A lot of Stucky moments, Alexander Pierce is a piece of shit, Amnesia, Angst, Brainwashing, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes and Plums, Bucky Barnes-centric, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Feels, Guilt, Horrible Hydra, Lost Memories, Multi, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Neurological Manipulation, Physical Torture, Poor Bucky, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Psychological Torture, Sadness, Skinny Steve, Sort of OT3, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Stucky - Freeform, What happened to Tony's parents, Young Bucky, Young Steve, all the feels, dark themes, plums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-06-09 19:32:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6920179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/pure_vibranium_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It never ends. This thing they planted inside him, this deadly German sickness, it holds him hostage in the wilderness of his mind. And the shuddering pain that they unleash upon him in blades of violent lightening, the red that dissolves in his hollow, steel eyes will never go away. They are a virus, they will never fade away.</p><p>***</p><p>Bucky Barnes is a phantom of the man he used to be.  He is constantly sifting through his broken memories and resisting against HYDRA's chains, alone in this battle against himself. </p><p>Or so he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky Barnes. The poor soul. The cotton-fluff-ball-we-all-want-to-hug-but-could-probably-kill-us-but-would-hug-us -back-anyway-kid. I have been sitting on this idea for a long time, to explore the extent of HYDRA's horrible tortures that Bucky experienced and to delve deep into his Winter Soldier history. Civil War only fuelled the flames, and there will be spoilers so watch out. 
> 
> This is a fic entered on Bucky Barnes trials and tribulations. As a result, this required me to search into the deepest, darkest corners of my brain and yank out some angsty pain. So, this will be dark. Very dark. 
> 
> As this story evolves, other relationships/ Characters will be added to the tags, since this is a random compilation of moments in the Winter Soldiers life, they won't be placed in any particular order. 
> 
> All in all, I hope you enjoy my fic, I'm open to suggestions and improvements as long as your nice :-)

 

* * *

 

 

It never ends. This thing they unleashed inside of him, this deadly German sickness, it holds him hostage in the wilderness of his mind. And the shuddering pain that strikes him in blades of violent lightening, the red that dissolves in his hollow, steel eyes will never go away. They are a virus, they will never fade away.

His body shudders in the aftermath, muscles spasming uncontrollably as the ache begins to plague his nerves. The growl of the appliance thrums through his body as it dies, it's starving appetite quenched with his memories.

Then, it starts. The onslaught begins.

_**Longing** _

His fists clench and coil tightly in his palm. He knows what's coming, like the grey before a storm.

_**Rusted** _

His eye twitches, his heart pounding against his chest. He begins to beg, to plead, with the monster inside him.

_Stop, please._

He tries to speak but his tongue is bitter and his voice is drowned by the other voices that haunt his mind. So many speaking at once, he can barely breathe.

_**Seventeen** _

The anger, it weaves through him, tangling him in savage rage. A roar tears through his throat, raw and desperate.

 _**Daybreak** _  
_**Furnace** _

The walls within him crumble as the Soldat tears through his skin, emerging from the sinister darkness that swallows him.

 _**Nine** _  
_**Benign** _

The insect that crawls along his spine, up into his neck and scatters across his brain unplugs all the violence in his heart, unleashes the hurricane in his veins.

 _**Homecoming** _  
_**One** _

He can see his handler smirk, his lips curving cruelly like a scythe, satisfied with the sinister transformation of the Winter Soldier. He is no longer James Buchanan Barnes, he is the Winter Soldier and his eyes flicker like the tip of a blade. He is HYDRA's silver fist, their attack dog, all hungry teeth and snarling jaws.

_**Freight Car** _

***

Even if he doesn't remember anything else, he remembers the pain. He remembers the way the electricity paves highways beneath his skin where it travels through him, carving deeper and deeper roads through his skull each time he is condemned to the chair. He remembers how the whips of electrical energy sear through his mind like a sword, even when he doesn't remember his own name.

Bucky Barnes wakes up at an unholy hour with the sheets soaking wet, his chest split open and the phantom graze of a blade slicing a six inch canyon through the middle of his skull. His disheveled brown locks stick to his forehead, he brushes them away as he gasps and chokes, trying to asphyxiate the poison his lungs. HYDRA handlers melt into the shadows, their ghosts leaving a cold chill to fill the air.

He staggers to his feet and rushes to the sink, heaving and spluttering, his whole body trembling like golden leaves dancing in the breeze. His fingers, both of flesh and of metal, grip the edge of the sink, leaving craters in the cool metal, his body floods with acid. Finally, when he's weak and he's an empty, tortured soul, he washes the grime that clings to his face and washes his mouth out first with water and then with minty toothpaste.

Bucky knows now that there is no appliance lurking in the shadows, inviting him to sit between its open jaws. He knows that he is actually in a motel in Delianuova, a town in Calabria, Italy. It still doesn't stop the painful truth that this disease, it never goes away. HYDRA will always win in his nightmares, the villains in his skull will always sink their needles into his brain and conquer him with pain. He will always be HYDRAS loaded rifle, their cavernous soldier, a devilish spirit lurking in the darkest of crevasses. Forever tormented by the eternal winter in his heart.

Even though it has been a year, the migraines still return with vengeful rage, screaming at him to return to his masters like a loyal dog. It is engraved in his code, to return to his makers in the same way a dog returns to its vomit. To lap up all the sickness they offer him, to drink it up in the same way that the appliance consumes him.

After sculling a glass of water, Bucky returns to his bed, his body still trembling. His hands seek out his book of memories where he scribbles what he feels, what he thinks he remembers, onto paper. Black symbols stained against white, captured memories imprisoned between two blue bars. He knows what he has to do, knows where all the answers lay hidden.

He must find the Man on the Bridge.


	2. Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their love is a forbidden thing. Phantom kisses in the dark, quiet moans under the moon. It's love and he knows it in his core.
> 
> It will haunt them to their graves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a strong believer in the Winterwidow Red Room romance that has stained both Natasha and Bucky, even if he doesn't entirely remember it. 
> 
> I had this one all ready to go so why not post it? *shrugs*
> 
> Also... I feel on a spiritual level the intensity of a Steve/Natasha/Bucky love thingy blossoming between them. My Romanogers feels couldn't resist.

 

* * *

 

The Winter Soldier does not feel.

The Winter Soldier is violence and metal. He does not feel anything but the crush of bones and bodies inside his grasp, the crack of a rifle's bullet piercing skulls, the rush of blood flowing through his fingers.

But when he sees _her_ , he feels a pull, a longing. He doesn't long for anything as much as he longs for her.

Every press of her skin, whether it takes the form of a punch or a caress, feels familiar, born from the most human parts of him. Beneath her fingertips lie all his memories, everything that makes him flesh and bone and not machine. She peels back his armour and traces familiar patterns across his body that will soothe him down to his soul.

Some distant part of him screams to have her beneath his fingertips and it's strange, it's terrifying and it's dangerous. To long for a student the way he does, especially for one as skilled and as vital as Natalia Romanov, Mother Russia's newborn hope is a death wish sealed behind plump, cherry lips. Still, he longs to feel her and not just touch her. To hold her instead of sharpen her into the weapon that she is.

He can't say when he developed this yearning for her, this ache in his bones that cries out for her. He was always impressed with her strength and her skill, since the day they met. It was clear to him that she illuminates with a strong sense of power and defiance, she is either a wildfire of a single, dancing flame.

The Widow is as beautiful as she is intelligent. Her beauty is supernatural, with bewitching emerald eyes that hold hostage an array of green and blue shades. Her hair is like waves of scarlet that flow effortlessly over her shoulder blades. Her cherry-kissed lips that makes him crave for her in all the ways a man can crave for a beautiful woman. She is a vision of beauty, an embodiment of all things enchanting to the eyes. But it goes beyond her beauty and her skill set, it's something raw and rooted deep in his heart. He isn't sure what it is exactly, but it is there, dwelling with all his thistles and thorns.

When they drag him into the Appliance and awaken the sleeping beast inside of him, this plea for intimacy is drowned by the objective and the brutal hell that follows it. After the dust settles, when he's able to gather the scattered pieces of his skull, still smouldering in the electrical pulses they send through his brain, his soul will surrender to the longing in his veins and he'll lay amongst his wounds and his bitterness and he'll dream of her.

Tonight, he finds himself waiting for her in the crumbled ruins of an old church, a couple kilometres away from the grip of the Academy. Out here, beneath the celestial lights and the obsidian night sky, he is able to feel the crisp, midnight air fill his lungs instead of the poison that he breathes in at the Academy. It was only with his and her handlers permission that he was able to steal her away from the Academy and train her in the forest.

As he waits, he recalls the first time he had seen the Widow, when he had felt her dance her way beneath his skin in ways that the Asset ignored. He had admired her from a crowd, watching as she arched and twirled across the stage like a wildflower in a gentle summer breeze. She is so elegant and so graceful, it was like watching the waters of a river flow over a stone. It even more mesmerising to watch her in battle. She can become a midnight breeze or a turbulent hurricane.

When Natalia arrives, at exactly 12:00am, the Soldat exhales a heavy breath that he had no idea he was holding onto. She approaches him with fierce poise that strikes him. He will never show how much he longs for her.

"Vanya, do you remember me?" She whispers, keeping her distance.

"Natalia," he says because her name rolls on his tongue like gentle waves roll toward the shore. Because it feels right and holy on his lips. He smiles, truly smiles, his lips turning up in a way that he saves just for her.

_**"Natalia."** _

****

She is many things to many people; The Widow, the Slavic Shadow, the Red Death. She is a shifting shadow, a dancing flame, a loaded gun lurking behind soft, cherry lips. But tonight, she is just Natalia. His Natalia.

His lips taste like hope and the sweetest devotion as he whispers little promises against her skin. His kisses spill over her neck and across her collarbone, his hands clinging to her and holding her tighter, as though he knows of the encroaching storm. Her skin pulses beneath his lips as she indulges in the beautiful intimacy that blossoms between them, the way she softens under his touch, the way he makes her believe. He begins to explore and he wipes away the tempest that brews in her chest.

They have been something far more than teacher and student for sometime now, since the night they stood amongst the ruins of a fallen cathedral. She knows they would be punished if they were seen like this, bodies mapping each other out in the most intimate of ways. But she can't find it in her to care, there is nothing they can do to her that they haven't already done before. She finds him worth it, worth whatever pain lies in store for her. It is inevitable, their fate, nothing in the Red Room lasts forever. When he drags his lips back to hers, she tastes nectar instead of blood. **She loses herself to him and forgets that it may be the last time that she ever will.**

****

Natasha awakens with the vertigo of a tornado in her mind that spins her senses out of control. Perspiration clings to her skin like frost and it glistens beneath the silver moonlight. She can taste his name on her tongue, the way her lungs screamed for him as she dreamed of all the ways he had satisfied her almost a lifetime ago. The dreams that haunt her tonight are memories, memories of _him_.

It unnerves her that the moon has awakened these parts of her, parts she had condemned to the black hole in her mind. How many years she had spent drowning them in vodka, in blood, in poison. The agony is unbearable, the itching beneath her skin and the nails that grate against her brain. She washes back the sob on her lips with cold, prickly water.

Natasha travels through the quiet Avengers facility, skilled feet gliding down the corridor. She hesitates in front of Steve's room, a part of her pulls her toward the door but another part of her sends terminal ice through her muscles so that she stills before she can reach for the door knob. She wants to fall into his arms, she wants to let him pepper open mouthed kisses over her neck and she wants to suck the freedom off his lips. But something always tugs her away.

Natasha turns quickly and leaves, pretending that she was never in front of Steve's door. Instead, she seeks out the comfort of a solid punching bag, her fists hungry to hit something. She enjoys her brutal assault against the punching bag, scattering her possessive thoughts for a while. She doesn't know how long exactly it takes for her to unleash the pent up rage weighing in her chest like shrapnel, but she can see low flickers of gold peeking through the gym windows, and she knows that the night is finally over, swallowed by the dawn.

Natasha will fake a smile when Steve enters later, she'll allow him to gather her shattered pieces and hold them in his arms for just a while longer. She will tease herself with the possibility, the painful truth that he will forever remain an almost. She'll pretend not to see the longing in those cyan blue eyes she yearns to drown in. **She doesn't want to lose him, so she never has him in the first place.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, beta'd by the lovely heyfrenchfreudiana. She is incredible guys, she really is. 
> 
> Also, I want to thank the girlies on the Romanogers Chat group who are ever so patient with my convulsing fits. I love you all.


	3. Rusted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is just a rusted tin soldier and nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short but cruel and a little random. 
> 
> Fuck you HYDRA

 

* * *

 

 

_I am made to be used and reused._

To the white coats, he is just a rusted, tin soldier. They polish him up and pour gasoline into his veins while the newly enhanced bicker at him with snapping jaws, waiting to unleash the violence that boils beneath their skin. When he is the remnants of a crushed machine choking on his own blood, they take him in and repair him, they sharpen and hone him and the cycle begins once again.

To the enhanced, he is their meal, their prey trapped in their game. The desire burns in their eyes like the serum that possesses their veins. They yearn to sink their fangs into him and taste violence and the salty, sanguine copper on their tongues. Their ravenous appetite is satisfied when they feel his bones crush and twist in their fists. They watch him through hooded eyes, pupils dissolving in pools of utter lust.

The white coats understand that there are many different cravings that The Enhanced yearn for. They use the Asset as their Swiss Army knife, a weapon for multiple purposes. When The Enhanced howl and snarl like beasts of the night, longing to satisfy the lust in their hearts, the White coats toss him to the wolves. They devour him whole, bending him to their pleasure.

HYDRA rewards the Winter Soldier with a cell of his own, a token of their 'appreciation.' He knows the real reason they lock him up is because he in stills fear, he is a predator that could make even the devil tremble. Even if he is just fresh meat for The Enhanced to feast off, they know that there is a monster lurking in the depths of the abyss inside of him.

It is in this cell that he sinks into the mattress, when his muscles turn to lead and he is left to mend his wounds. In these lonely hours, he can feel the rust assault his lungs and every laboured breath burns. He is left to boil in the rust as it creeps across his heart, sinking through flesh and bone.

Something like scarlet flames invade his mind, dancing into his skull like a red haired ballerina. They smoulder and die when the Winter Soldier is dragged back into the appliance for uttering her name in the cloud of his own confusion.

He is just a rusted, tin soldier and nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hurt a lot. Thank you to heyfrenchfreudiana for helping me through the pain. 
> 
>  
> 
> p.s. Brace yourselves... Stucky is coming :-)


	4. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knows him. Some deep, dark part of him knows the truth, that this face is not of a stranger but of an associate, a friend. Someone he had made an unknown promise to almost a lifetime ago. 
> 
> Someone he may have loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time that I've written Stucky so I hope it's ok. Please let me know of any suggestions you may have for upcoming chapters, I'm open minded and happy to listen to whatever you have to offer :-)

"The man on the bridge... Who was he?"

"You met him earlier this week on another assignment,"

"I knew him,"

"Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century. And I need you to do it one more time. Society's at a tipping point between order and chaos. And tomorrow morning, we're going to give it a push. But, if you don't do your part, I can't do mine. And HYDRA can't give the world the _freedom_ it deserves."

**"But I knew him..."**

****

In another life, he may have loved him.

The frail ghost of a boy sits withered in an alleyway. A small ribbon of blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. An angry cloud of purple and red surrounds the oceans in his left eye, swollen to the point where the tender flesh closes in on itself, rendering him temporarily blind.

"Jesus, Steve" Bucky mutters, crouching low to inspect the damage. "What did you get yourself into now?"

"If I don't stand up to them, they will never go away," Was Steve's response, grimacing slightly as Bucky brushed a gentle fingertip across the swelling in his eye.

"Or, you're just an idiot."

Steve chuckled at that, and the chortle faded into a small grin, one that matched a look of admiration and awe. Bucky allowed the tides in Steve's eyes to wash over him, immersing himself in the cyan waves.

"Why do you do this?" Steve suddenly asks, yanking Bucky from the pools in Steve's eyes.

"Do what? Pick you up every time you decide to take on kids bigger and dumber than you?"

"No. Why are you my friend?" Steve asks and it is so sincere and so desperate for the comfort of an answer, Bucky finds himself temporarily speechless.

Steve implores Bucky for an explanation, a touch of melancholy brimming in his deep sea eyes. Bucky sighs and braces his back against the cold, brick wall beside Steve.

"Steve, being your best friend and brother in arms is not an obligation, nor is it a choice. I'm your friend because being your friend is the only thing that feels right. I've been in a lot of different relationships with a lot of different faces. But your one remains. While girls fade with the seasons, your friendship is the single pillar of unchangeable truth."

The smile that stretches across Steve's battered lips is one that etches itself into Bucky's soul. Steve has always been a brother to Bucky, bound together in a bond thicker than blood. But today, in the one of many lonely alleyways of Brooklyn's heart, this brotherhood felt like it was bordering on something that was uncharted territory to Bucky. It prompted him to gaze deeply into Steve's eyes and wrap strong, comforting fingers over Steve's thin and bony shoulder.

"I'm with you 'till the end of the line, pal," Bucky smiled, and Steve echoed it, lighting his eyes up to that radiant shade he reserved just for Bucky.

In another life, he may have loved him.

****

"You know me."

"No I don't!"

"Bucky, you've known me your entire life. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes..."

"Shut up!"

"I'm not going to fight you. You're my best friend,"

**"You're my mission."**


	5. Daybreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'll never see the sun, nor will he see the colours she brings with her at daybreak. All he will see is smeared red painting the sky. He is a child of the night, he is a creature of winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been a while since I last updated. I haven't been well lately but I'll get there. 
> 
> This chapter is triggery as it mentions attempted suicide.   
> Please take care whilst reading it. 
> 
> Also, I don't know much about Nick Fury's life before he became director. I just assumed that he was an agent prior to becoming promoted as Director. 
> 
> I also heavily believe that Peggy was a mentor and a mother figure to Tony. This shines through in this chapter, because Peggy wasn't just inspiring to Steve and Sharon but everyone around her. I just love Peggy Carter okay.

* * *

 

December 16 1991

Location: Classified

File type: Transcript

Clearance Level: 8

Property of SHIELD

 

 **DIRECTOR CARTER** : Prep the forensics team, I want to examine the crime scene before the Feds contaminate it.

 **AGENT FURY** : What are you expecting to find?

 **DIRECTOR CARTER** : Something that convinces me that this is not the work of a professional assassin.

 **AGENT FURY** : You think Howard and Maria were assassinated?

 **DIRECTOR CARTER** : These tyre marks are that of a motorcycle, they're fresh.

 **AGENT FURY** : Forensics assume that it was a hit and run.

 **DIRECTOR CARTER** : Look at the marks around Maria's neck. They suggest strangulation by a rather strong hand.

 **AGENT FURY** : What about the boy? What do we tell him?

 **DIRECTOR CARTER** : I will tell Tony, he doesn't trust anyone but me and quite frankly, I don't trust anyone else delivering such awful news to that young man. He'll need someone to be there for him so I'll try to be the person he needs me to be at this time.

 **AGENT FURY** : Director Carter, what do you think we're up against?

_Static_

**DIRECTOR CARTER** : That's what we need to find out.

 

****

Looking at him now, a few fractured memories form in his molten eyes, pupils exploding with fear. There are whispers that gently caress his ears, begging him to remember. The Asset ignores them all, he is all steel and nothing more.

"Sergeant Barnes?"

No one has ever called him 'Barnes' and something inside him twists, wires crossing together and sparking embers. Those eyes stare straight through him, brown orbs melting with tears. The Asset shows no mercy.

A fist of silver slams against flesh and bone. With a couple of strong strikes, the man drops dead, muscles limp and eyes lifeless, another bleeding corpse at the feet of the Winter Soldier.

A woman cries, a cracked, broken sob, one that has surrendered to her fate. His fist closes around her begging neck and captures her gasps, her whimpers, her splutters. Her pulse, once heavy against his fingers, fades like a dying candle.

As a reward, his handlers will let him sleep on a mattress instead of the cold, concrete floor that absorbs his shudders.

****

During the night, the Winter Soldier entertains the ghosts in his mind that they leave behind. Most of them are strangers with strange faces and voices that call to him from another lifetime. There is one persistent visitor, though, that emerges from his cracked psyche like a stubborn spirit.

"Hey, Buck," he says, the small boys lips curving into a familiar smile. The broken soldier lifts his head to eye the outline of the phantom, returning to him from the deepest, most scarred parts of his mind.

"Who are you?" He asks, "What do you want?"

"You killed them, Buck. That man. You knew him and you killed him,"

"No," The soldier shakes his head, denying the truth that digs beneath his skin, "No."

Blasts of red, white and blue blind him as his mind drifts back and forth, from past to present. Falling into the empty abyss, falling, falling, falling.

"No," he chokes, and a strong hand braces itself against his back. The soldier looks up to see the boy has changed. He's bigger now, stronger, stronger than he'll ever be.

"It's okay, Buck. You'll soon forget everything at daybreak and you will return to the grey fog that threatens to swallow you whole."

Oh, how the truth stung.

Medical are perturbed by the way the Winter Soldier whispers into shadows as though there are people lurking inside them. They are even more alarmed when shadows convince him to try and silence himself forever with the edgy blade tucked in his boot.

"Put him on ice," they beg, because they want to seal him away forever. His handler, a tall blonde man with piercing eyes shakes his head as he watches behind a tinted screen.

"No, we need him for the cause."

"He remembers," they warn. They know how deadly memories can be, especially when the Assets mind is a mine field.

"Let him remember," his handler snarls, "And then we will intensify the Appliances output."

Medical turns the dials and the knobs. They increase the voltage until all The Asset feels is the white flashes of electricity storming through his brain like a snow blizzard. They scramble his brain and toss it back into his cracked and aching skull. They repair the flaw in his coding and then they release him into the world.

He'll never see the sun, nor will he see the colours she brings with her at daybreak. All he will see is smeared red painting the sky. He is a child of the night, he is a creature of winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading my fic ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> This chapter was inspired by a fic I read in which the first half of the story was a transcript. 
> 
> I always wondered how the forensics team never noticed that Maria was strangled, like, aren't there visible signs of strangulation? So, I've decided to have Peggy notice this and conduct an investigation that leads nowhere. If only it did lead somewhere, maybe she would have found Bucky and rescued him. :-( 
> 
> I also would like to thank heyfrenchfreudiana once again for our late night chats and also for helping me with this.


	6. Furnace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything burns. Everything is doomed for those red hot flames. Everything turns to ash. 
> 
> Even memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so overdue! I'm so sorry babes! 
> 
> Since this baby is so short, I'm going to post Furnace and Nine at the same time :-) 
> 
> Enjoy and thank you for reading darlings.

* * *

 

 

There is a monster deep inside the labyrinth of HYDRA's walls. It is a large, tentacled creature that tangles its victims with electrical limbs, sucking out all their memories and swallowing them like the ravenous beast that it is. It sits like a Baal in the pit of HYDRA's lust for violence, it's craving for torturous pain. It's where they drag him, where he is reprogrammed and born again when he malfunctions.

It is hellfire. It may not be built on sulphur and limestone but it is where he burns.

They call it the Furnace.

When they wiped him the first time, blood was still seeping through the metal plates of his new silver appendage, stripes of red against cold steel. His throat was ablaze as they stole his memories away with tendrils of electricity, and he burned, he withered, he perished. He was just the skeleton of a man, all brute muscle and strength but no flesh, no heart.

He is condemned to the same fate again and again whenever he returns from a mission. His skull is peeled back as he shudders, wires and nerves cringing from the heat of the electrical claws sink into his temples and he quivers with them in the scalded air. He is flooded with power and sparks and bone-slicing pain and then reborn as the Winter Soldier, a Ghost, a revenant.

The chaos that it unleashes inside of him is all he knows. Pain is a solid truth that follows him like a shadow, it is a distorted echo of a life filled with anguish and rage. It is thunder inside his skull, clashing and roaring and crackling but it is all that he remembers. As soon as it fills his irises, he knows, he knows to bury the memories deep within him so that the beast can't reach them.

But it always finds them. It is a hungry bonfire burning all of time, years of his life piled up and incinerated. All that is left of him is chars and ashes, coals and smoke left to rise and stain history like black ink against white.

He died in snow. He was resurrected in flames.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by heyfrenchfreudiana, who is an angel in disguise. I couldn't decide if I wanted to add more to this chapter or not but I decided just to leave it when it took me literally days to write three words. I may add more to this later, when the Inspo comes. 
> 
> Thank you to all the readers, there are no words to describe how much you all mean to me.


	7. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story begins with two boys. Call them brothers. One was tall with dark hair and steel eyes. One was scrawny and weak and beautiful. 
> 
> And then came the war. 
> 
> And then, the snow. 
> 
> Breathe. Breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is probably my favourite. I love writing Steve and Bucky as children.

* * *

 

 

They were boys once. That was what everyone seemed to forget. That the Winter Soldier once had a mother who cradled him with lullabies, who tucked him into bed with sweet, sweet kisses planted on his forehead. That, from those kisses, daisies used to grow and light up his eyes. Those daisies have died now, their roots shattered from electricity, their petals withered from the poison they force down his throat.

Every now and again, he feels the gentle caress of a mothers palm against his forehead, of an embrace given by ghosts. It is hard for the Asset, when these glimpses emerge from the fog, because he's never truly believed that he was anything more than steel and rust. But some part of him remembers, he remembers haunting blue eyes, a scrawny boy folded in half and spluttering into a napkin, something sweet melting over his lips like nectar or honey. It's distant but it's there, filling the mould that they'd carved out of him, and it's something beautiful because it pricks his eyes with salty water.

It's beautiful. That's for sure.

****

They were, in every way, brothers. The same blood flowed through their veins.

Brooklyn was their dusty playground, filled with monsters and magic and wonders of the world. With Steve, he felt like he could fight them all, like he was following him into battle with the villains they created in their minds. They built this city with their own two hands.

Each day was a different conquest with its own challenges. There was, however, one particular challenge that presented itself in the form of a plum. A fresh and juicy plum, soft but not too soft, firm but not too firm. It made them salivate at the thought of sinking their teeth into the flesh of the sugary fruit.

"This is insane, Buck. I've never felt so exhilarated in my life," Steve rubbed his small palms together, taking in a deep breath.

"This isn't even half as exhilarating as touching a girls breast for the first time," Bucky smirked, and it was true. Feeling the smooth mound of a girls breast was the most sensational feeling in the world. But girls were so much more complicated than plums, according to Bucky's 13-year-old mind. "But we'll get to that later."

Steve paused, breath hitched in his throat, pupils suddenly darkening. He knows that look that crossed over Steve's face, his thoughts wandering off the edge of the world and exploring darker avenues in his mind. It was the same look that flourished over his face whenever Bucky explained to him the specifics of the female anatomy; how to kiss, where to touch, what to do and what not to do if he wanted to stay alive. Bucky sighed and chuckled, a little exasperated.

"Stop thinking about breasts, Steve"

"Sorry," Steve murmured, sheepishly. He almost looked ashamed, brows furrowing and the corners of his mouth loosening. Bucky laughed and wrapped an arm around Steve's shoulders.

"So, what's the plan, Captain?"

Steve grinned at that and glanced at the fruit stand tucked on the corner of Bracknell street.

"I think that you should create a distraction. I'll sneak in and steal the plums. Then we run like crazy."

It was a successful plan, as always. It took more effort on Bucky's part, kissing Eva, Mr Shadforths red-haired-daughter, seemed like a drastic extent to go to. But it worked, even if it had Steve rolling his eyes because he knew Bucky had had his eye on that pretty dame for months now. While Eva watched with hearts bursting in her blue eyes, and flames roaring in Mr Shadforths, Steve and Bucky raced down Brooklyn's streets, chuckling like the school boys they were, running and running until Steve could hardly breathe. Literally.

Eventually, when Steve had remembered how to breathe and Bucky's heart stopped thundering in his chest, they found a comfortable spot within a large tree and devoured their stolen goods, Bucky describing in impeccable detail what a girl's breast felt like and Steve listening, wide-eyed.

"What was it like kissing Eva Shadforth?" Steve asked with a mouthful of fruit, intrigued and maybe a little bit jealous.

"It was exhilarating," Bucky grinned, to which Steve chuckled.

"Damn you,"

"Language!" Bucky winked, evoking a hearty laugh from Steve that made his chest quake from the force of it.

It was days like these that made Bucky realise how important Steve was to him, when his blue eyes were alight with joy and benevolence.

Little did they know that they would grow into men, and from men, to soldiers.

Little did they know that war, blood and ice would separate them.

Little did they know that the distance that would grow between them would become a wilderness of ghosts and shells and skeletons from 70 years of violence and melancholy.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the beautiful heyfrenchfreudiana. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this, sweeties. Thank you so much for reading.


	8. Benign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Soldat is anything but kind. He is their loaded rifle, their metal fist. He knows only the turbulence in his heart and the anger in his veins. 
> 
> But she disarms him. 
> 
> She.... She is benign. She turns metal to flesh, water to wine. 
> 
> She makes him feel human again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just wanna say thank you to all the people reading my fic. It has become increasingly difficult for me to write these days, so finding kind comments and kudos really encourages me to write. 
> 
> Here, have some Winter Widow :-)

 

* * *

 

 

 

 _"My fingers are a pen and you are my poetry,"_ she whispers, and her eyes lock on his. Her fingers dance across his skin like the lonely dance of a ballerina. _"I will scribe our memories on the palm of your hand."_

This is their ritual, their balm that they do in secret. It is a gentle remedy, a touch of promise, a kiss of hope. It is like sunlight against his skin, it is the soft petals of a rose. It is kindness.

It makes him feel human again.

After missions, the soldier is wiped of his memory of them. It is probably a good thing, for if he remembered all the crimes he committed, he wouldn't hesitate to fall onto a blade. HYDRA knows the power a conscience can have on a human being, so they turn him into a machine and burn the missions memory from his mind. But HYDRA doesn't know that amongst the weeds of his memories is a single rose blossoming in the wasteland of his mind, and when they wipe him, they poison the roots of that rose, too.

So when they are reunited beneath the moonlight, standing at what would have been an alter in a crumbled and corroded church, she revives those memories that were lost in the fire.

_"I will trace the path back to your heart."_

Sometimes, he remembers her, and instead of practicing their 'stealth training,' they disarm the mechanical ears clinging to their skin and they melt together underneath the moon. There are other times when he doesn't remember her completely, so she stands amongst the glowing embers and brings them back to life with the magic beneath her fingertips.

Most times, he pretends to forget because the Widow has a Midas touch, delicate like the intricate webs she weaves together. The Soldat feels alive when she touches him like this, she intoxicates him with her aura. The way her skin glides against his own washes away the rust that erodes his soul, he truly feels alive when her fingers seek out the memories scribed across his palm. She continues her pursuit up his forearm, following the veins beneath his skin.

_"And I will follow every road until I find those memories buried deep inside of you."_

Her fingertips awaken all his memories of her that HYDRA buried deep in a grave, they paint rivers across the lines on his palm of flesh, gently tracing the roads that were worn down by blood and violence. They unstitch all the shrapnel embedded beneath his skin and release the memories strangled in the clouds of his mind.

 _"Because you are my ink,"_ A little smile hovers across her lips as she gazes deep into his soul. _"My passion."_

With each gentle caress comes the awakening of tiny memories forming in the inner most parts of his mind and he can feel himself unraveling, surrendering completely to the way she touches him. Her finger follows the bulge of his bicep, up his shoulder, and ends at his cheek, cupping his face with one hand. He leans into her soft touch, his eyes flickering closed. He remembers.

_"You are my poetry."_

***

"Vanya, do you remember me?"

"Natalia," he says because her name rolls on his tongue like gentle waves roll toward the shore. Because it feels right and holy on his lips. He smiles, truly smiles, his lips turning up in a way that he saves just for her.

**"Natalia."**

***

It is when everyone has finally sunken into the exhaustion their bodies that the Winter Soldier approaches the bedside of the Widow. She lays before him on an alter, her pale complexion lacks the radiance and the glow that she naturally exhibits as deaths shadow creeps up behind her. He knows she will survive, that she will drag herself out of the hungry, black abyss that craves her. He knows this because he remembers. She's endured far worse trials than death.

He watches her, listens to the steady pulse of her heartbeat projected from a monitor with a mechanical beep, chest rising and falling while her teal blue eyes see dreams behind long lashes. She's so still and he sees the crimson flowers that had flourished on her chest, stomach and shoulder days beforehand. Fired from the bullet of his own gun. His metallic finger twitches, the one that pulled back trigger, and the weight of his gun ghosts in his grasp.

The hospital is silent as dusk descends upon its white, white walls. It doesn't take much effort for the Soldat, a shadow of darkness itself, to slip past the hospitals security silently and lean close to her ear, his fingers of flesh threading with her slender ones. His heart pounds, the scent of her hair, vanilla and cherry blossom, fill his senses. He gently takes her hand in his metal grasp and he recites the words etched into his soul.

_"My fingers are a pen and you are my poetry."_

His lips tremble, tears begin to sting at his eyes with small, salty needles. His voice wavers and rasps, he sounds nothing like the voice who has charmed him to sleep, who had soothed his wounds and whispered life with her cherry kissed lips.

 _"I will scribe our memories on the palm of your hand."_ His fingers trace the patterns on her small palm, large finger gently grazing against smooth skin. " _I will trace the path back to your heart."_

His touch is like that of a phantoms, so light and gentle. But it does something to her because he feels her react to his touch, her own fingers twitching with life as her subconscious articulates every word of their shared poetry, their mantra, in a husky whisper.

_"And I will follow every road until I find those memories buried deep inside of you."_

The Soldat does not realise that he has an audience. The Captain and the Hawk will never understand, their lips muted in horror at revelation performed before their eyes. Their ritual was their own and was not to be shared with anyone else.

_"Because you are my ink, my passion..."_

Natasha's eyes flicker beneath long lashes as she resists the urge to fall carelessly into oblivion. The Soldat brings his fleshly palm to her cheek and her heart thunders against her rib cage, it's mechanical beat can be heard in a defiant crescendo through the monitor. The Soldat swallows and whispers the final part of their mantra, their child's prayer.

**_"My poetry."_ **

Pain sneaks out of his lashes and leak from his eyes in the form of tears. It is by the Widow's bedside when Winter Soldier finally cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been beta'd by heyfrenchfreudiana, a real-life super heroine. 
> 
> I just realised that Natasha does something very similar in the God awful Avengers: Age of Ultron to tame a monster back into a man. Imma pretend that was my intention, to establish Hulk's lullaby as an echo of a similar lullaby she told her first true love <3 
> 
> Also, you may have noticed I copied and pasted a paragraph from Longing in this chapter. This was the context of that chapter. I'm not sure if I made it clear enough that Bucky gets wiped of his missions, and most of his memories of Natalia fade with them too. So for him it's like 50 first dates. That is literally the most apt description of their relationship. 
> 
> Thank you again to all the kind comments, also to all the anons who comment on my Chris/Seb imagines on my tumblr throw-her-to-thewolves. I don't think you understand how much it means to me to hear that my fics are appreciated, and since I am naturally retarded when it comes to compliments/flattery, i can't formulate a proper response other than "thank you, I love you." So... Umm. Thank you. 
> 
> Anyway, gonna shut up now and leave.


	9. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't matter now. He is their slave, their prisoner of war. But these four walls are all he's ever known. He clings to them because it's familiar, in a world of anger and confusion, it's something solid. Even if it causes him to sink. 
> 
> It's home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's taking me so long to update! I've been struggling with a bit of writers block at the moment, and I'm currently writing prompts and requests on Tumblr. I've published them on AO3 in the reader insert series called 'Baby it's you and me against the world.' 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter.

  
_Eyes flutter open. Vision distorted. Head throbbing._

_Awake._

_Cold. Room is dark. No clear exits._

_Pain. Left shoulder severely injured. Cybernetic appendage fully functional._

_Shadows dance. Movement, the sigh of a heavy door wheezing open._

_Assessing for threats._

_One threat found. Tall. Facial recognition finds one match._

**_Master._ **

* * *

 

After years of sleep and ice, they decide to cut open his tomb and release him from the icy hellfire. When they do, they disperse his ice-brimmed dreams with whips of lightening, with electrical power that reaches deep into the dusted crevasses of his mind.

He awakens with a tight gasp as his mind flickers back and forth, blinking back the blurry vision. His mouth is dry and raw and his lips cracked and parched. There is a searing ache that splits down the middle of his brain, coursing through his body and leaving him paralysed. Silver still clings to his shoulder and its heavy weight is cold. The lacerated skin where metal meets with flesh weeps crimson tears, draining him of life with each agonising drop.

Metal drags across the damp, concrete floor. The grating of steel sliding open. A man-shaped shadow looms like a vampire, watching the rusted soldier.

 **Master Pierce**.

"Welcome home, Soldat," Master Pierce states in English. It sounds strangely familiar and bitter in his ears, he is used to being addressed in Russian.

"Master," he chokes, the word grazing against his scarred and aching throat. It doesn't feel right, like the word has been programmed into him, it sounds heavy on his tongue. "Was I sleeping?" He asks, his voice grates against his raw throat and he swallows back the pain.

"Yes. Yes you were." Master Pierce nods and sits beside him. "Do you know why you're here? Why you're back home?"

The Asset shakes his head.

"Good,"

Master Pierce feeds the Winter Soldier twisted lies, tangling him in HYDRA's thick and slimy tentacles, dragging him back into their ravenous black hole. The Winter Soldier bends into blind obedience like a loyal rifle, allowing Master Pierce to curl his finger around the trigger.

When Master Pierce leaves, the Winter Soldier finally notices the dried blood beneath his finger nails and matches the crevasses on his shoulder with his own claws. Whatever fit of rage provoked him to claw his own metal arm off must have forced the white coats to wipe him and leave him to rust amongst the shard-scattered-darkness in his mind.

He sinks back into the mould of the Asset, filling each jaggered corner with the violence that surges through his veins. He lets the past remain the past, even if a name is weighing on his tongue and caressing his lips like the taste of something sweet, something he'd known once before, something he had cherished.

It doesn't matter now. It's history, painted in red. These walls echo and the shadows groan but it's all familiar. It's all he's ever known.

 **It's home**.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, the next few chapters will be delayed as I am struggling with Writers block, as I said. But I am determined to update ASAP. thank you for your patience, beautiful people. 
> 
> heyfrenchfreudiana beta'd for me, she is a wonderful human being <3


	10. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's alone in this world of frost. Half of a whole, the other piece of him lost to frozen oceans and Russian regimes. 
> 
> He's alone. 
> 
> Some part of him likes it that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took a little while, I'm sorry :-/

* * *

  
The ice.

It burns like fire.

It wraps around him in a shroud of ice and strangles him in his frozen furnace.

He watches from the small window as they stand by his grave, the ice buries him like soil. No one leaves flowers by his tombstone. No one weeps like angels frozen in stone.

It's too late.

He can feel the ice breathe against the glass.

He's numb.

He fades.

* * *

  
He thinks he dreams of snow. Of how the delicate flakes of crystal dance from the heavens like angels, like ballerinas dressed in white. Of snow capped mountains and thick, white forests and a man, a companion, a friend standing by his side and the whoosh of a train and...and...and...

Falling...

Falling...?

No, thats not right.

He doesn't know. He doesn't remember.

He's lost.

He's alone.

He's half of two, half of a whole. Lonely, broken, abandoned. Buried in Winter's ashes, preserved in time. Years pass and the world evolves around him as he sleeps to the sound of the sands of time filtering through the funnel of an hourglass, as though it were a sad, bitter lullaby.

He's alone.

* * *

 

They crack open his grave and melt the ice on his skin.

He is programmed into action.

He malfunctions when his lips brush against hers, first reluctantly, and then passionately, desperate to taste anything other than the ash on his tongue. She tastes like golden honey melting over his palette; she's warm and gentle in his world of frost and violence. He does what he knows he should never do. He makes a home out of her arms; he builds a fireplace on her lips where he can thaw whatever is left of him that's ice.

They rip him from his home and tear her to the ground.

They freeze him in time when he cries her name from within the clouds of his own confusion.

He's alone once again to brave the encroaching snowstorm.

* * *

 

The ice captures her eyes. He doesn't know whose eyes they belong to but they are there, trapped in the frosted mirror in his mind. He thinks he dreams of her, of the woman with hair fiery enough to melt the winter in his veins. She was the Autumn, the golden dance of leaves, the auburn kiss of life before the clouds gather and the storms brew in the heavens.

She was one half of who he was.

She was taken from him.

He doesn't know why it hurts so god damn much.

* * *

When he awakens, he is only half a man with half a soul. The rest of him has been carved out and replaced the metal parasite that clings to his shoulder, feeding off his pain.

He never feels alone because the longing for company has been stolen from him. He knows only of the mission, and will devote his life to the chase, to the chaos and the ash and the gunpowder and the blood. He doesn't care for attachments to mortal things, he doesn't long for his memories that will continue to fall through his fingers like all the red that he pours out onto the earth.

That's what he allows them believe.

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having difficulties writing these final few chapters for some reason. Writers block is a curse.... 
> 
> Anywho, I shouldn't be too long updated this fic. I've only got a couple more chapters until it's finished and holy shit my first WIP will be over....
> 
> Feedback is welcome, as long as it's constructive and not destructive :-)


	11. Freight Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They said he was pushed from a train and that they saved him. They said he owed them a debt. And a part of him believed it, the part of him that was rusted and captured in ice. But a small voice in the back of his mind insisted that it was a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughhhhhhhhdhhdhdhdnjdnk  
> Cmrj mrk mrk. kRm r
> 
> Writing is hard. I'm sorry for the delay. 
> 
> :(

 

* * *

 

 

They say that when the Angels fell from heaven, it was to marry the daughters of the Earth. That they were willing to give up their wings for a taste of desire. They fell for love.

Bucky never believed these myths and legends, but the thought stayed with him, the story of how angels can sin. How they will toss aside their treasures in heaven for flesh and blood shaped into the form of a woman.

He only truly believed it years later, when a blast sent him tumbling off a train. He had gripped onto a shredded piece of metal that hung loosely like a lacerated ligament, flapping hopelessly in the breeze.

“Hold on!” Steve yelled, a plea in his voice that drifted over the whips of howling winds.

Bucky tried to reach Steve’s hand, like a child trying to grasp onto the hand of their father. But the metal that he clung to surrendered to the elements and snapped, pushing Bucky into gravity’s merciless arms.

“Bucky! No!”

Bucky was falling. Like the dark Angels, falling through the atmosphere hoping to be caught by the arms of the women that ensnared them. Except there was nobody standing at the bottom of his fall. And the person who had captured his heart was whisked away in a moving train.

His thoughts flicker like a candle in the breeze, he forces himself to engrave the brightest memories of Steve in his mind, sifting through his treasured moments with his closest friend as he fades into the dark oblivion that pulls him in.

The fall felt like Bucky was plummeting through time. It felt like hours squashed into minutes, falling and falling and falling. And all Bucky could think of was Steve.

_Thank God it’s me. Thank you for choosing Steve and not me because You know that the world needs him to fight the battles they never could. To liberate them, like he has liberated me._

It ends with the crack of his bones against the snow. The snow like white-hot flames beneath his skin. He lies in a dazed state, vertigo spinning in his skull. Crimson leaked out to soak the ice, it boiled in the back of his throat, metal and salt stained his lips. The train folded into the white mist above him.Yet he was happy to bleed out into the earth, to give back the life it had bestowed to him. Because Steve was alive. Steve is alive.

He knew that time was evading him, he could feel his thoughts beginning to seep into the icy snow beneath him. So he uses this time to think of Steve, to burn the image of his dace behind his eyelids so that he can die grasping onto one true friend who gave him happiness. How it had been so beautiful to fall for those haunting blue eyes.

Voices of the distant past knelt down to whisper in his ear, and with them came the images, the flashing scenes of his childhood played out before him on a reel, dancing before a sky of grey and white.

_A blond boy tucked away in a corner while the rest of the children play._

_A brunet boy leaning down to hand him a plum, a token of friendship. A promise_.

_The scrawny blond and the tall brunet treading on an iron tightrope, a train track, arms spread out like they could soar into the sky at any given moment._

All these beautiful, shattered things, these shards of memories pieced together to create a beautiful mosaic. Bucky collected them all and holds onto them to take into the afterlife.

Red spilled from his body and painted his sins in the snow, a swirl of curling letters scribed with the brush of death. Mist began to crawl over his vision, soaking his pale blue eyes with a glaze of salty tears as he coughed and spluttered, tasting sanguine rust on his tongue.

A cloud coats his eyes and fills the deepest crevasses of his skull. He is engulfed by a wildfire of pain, so agonising it numbed his nerves completely, and all he felt was the cold emptiness that follows.  
  
“Steve,” he rasped into the air, letting the name fold into the icy wind. The name flourished on his lips while a ribbon of blood rolled from the corners of his mouth, using his last dying breath to call out in a voice his friend would never hear. Then, like a ghost, he faded into darkness.

* * *

 

_There is a boy that Bucky sees as he pass by his house. He's a small, scrawny little thing, the type that attracts bullies. But the small boy doesn't go down without a fight, he's small and clever, and Bucky can't help but feel drawn to the strange blond boy._

_On his eighth birthday, Bucky wanders down the busy, cluttered streets. He passes his friends playing hopscotch and the fruit stand owned by a grumpy older man called Mr. Shadforth. Bucky's always quick with his hands and steals two plums from the stand, slipping them into his pocket as he ambles down the street._

_Bucky follows the map in his mind which leads him through the lush and flourishing Hyde Park. The aroma of fresh flowers blossom in the spring air, wafting down the street where it mingles with the cities pollution that hangs above the city like a cloud of doom._

_Eventually, he reaches the outskirts of the city where abandoned and rusting shells of the old freight cars sit like ghosts of a busier life. Bucky slides the copper door open to his chosen cart and climbs inside, only to realise he's not alone._

_The blond boy that fills him with fascination sits across from him, his bony features twisted into a predator's scowl. The boy doesn't appear startled, instead, his face crosses over with a look of defiance, as though he's expecting Bucky to fight him._

_"You found my hiding spot," Bucky smiles at the boy and the blond eyes him suspiciously, his blue eyes scanning him as though he were assessing him. "I'm Bucky," he adds, leaning down to offer the boy the other plum in his pocket._

_The blond does not respond to his offer but his glare softens at the sight of the plum. Bucky sits down beside Steve and places the plum between them._

_"You know, you're not like any of the other kids."_

_"What?" The boy asks, his brow furrowing in confusion._

_"You walk past my house every day to go home from school. I watch the way you fight. You're smarter than those dummy bullies." His comment earns him a chuckle from the boy and his bony fingers hover over the plum._

_"I'm Steve," the boy says as he takes the plum into his hands and smooths it over with his fingers._

_"We should be friends, Steve." Bucky says, smiling at him fondly._

_"Yeah," Steve smiles, "We should."_

* * *

 

Bucky awakens with the force of an electrical shock jolting through him. His eyes snap open and he pants, his body rippling with a cold ache. He blinks away the glaze of sleep, his vision blurry at first, before clearing ever slightly. The shadows bend and shape around him, surrounding him in darkness save for a bright white lamp that beams through a starless black sky.

"Hello?" He croaks, his lungs feel as though there is shrapnel weighing them down. He scans the shadows, looking for movement, but finds nothing. A tap drips in the distance, beads of water plummeting to the ground with a plop.

"Hello?" He calls again, this time a little louder. But all he receives in response is the dripping tap that echoes through the air in a steady staccato.

Bucky squirms in the bed but it proves to be impossible and a piercing stab of pain courses through him, throbbing in his bones. Bucky's face contorts into a grimace and he whines, his back hitting the mattress with frustration.

That's when he sees silver glinting in the light and his gut twists at the sight. Attached to his left shoulder is an arm made completely of metal, branded with a red star. Blood seeps from the silver plates and drip onto the floor. Bucky realises that it wasn't a tap but the droplets of his own blood dripping from the metal.

"What the fuck?!" Bucky thrashes against constraints, the pain drowned out by sheer panic and fear.

"I see you have woken up, Sergeant Barnes," Bucky's eyes widen at the sight of a tall man stepping out from the shadows.

"Who are you and where the fuck am I?"

"Hush now, Soldat." The man steps forward to the side of his bed, "My name is Dr. Ivchenko and you're fine now. You're safe."

"Safe!?" Bucky glowers at the balding man, "Safe!? What the fuck happened to my arm!?"

"You don't remember, do you?" Dr. Ivchenko shakes his head forlornly, "You were _pushed_ from a train and fell from a great height. It's a miracle that you survived,"

Bucky's chest heaved in erratic movements as flickers of memories brushed against his mind. Azure blasts of white and blue. Falling. He felt nausea fill his stomach and a throbbing ache stabbed his temples.

"You lost your arm in the fall and we found you just in time. Do you remember Dr. Zola?" Bucky shook his head and Dr. Ivchenko continued, "He saved your life. He brought you here and gave you your metal arm,"

"It's okay to be afraid. But what I'm here to do for you is to help you _focus_ on that fear."

There is a bitterness to this man that Bucky doesn't trust. His instincts shout at him, screaming for him to fight. But a single whisper smoulders in his ears, snaking around his mind and caressing his senses.

"Just, _focus_." 

 _ **It's okay**_ , the voice purrs, _**You're safe**._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, we're nearly at the end of our journey! I'll be posting the last chapter in the next week or so! 
> 
> ~ beta'd for feels by the beautiful heyfrenchfreudiana.


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say goodbye as though they will never see him again. Perhaps they won't. But Bucky will wrestle with angels to make sure that he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :'( 
> 
> Nothing hurts more than goodbyes.

* * *

 

Wherever Bucky goes, Steve follows. Bucky knows this. He knows this for a fact.  
  
The irony is bittersweet. That a lifetime ago, in world captured in black and white and countless shades of grey, Bucky had promised to follow Steve Rogers into war. And then, ice grew between them, and with ice, death. Death spat Bucky’s body straight back out, but filled the shell of his body with a different soul entirely.  
  
Steve became a legend. A treasured memory, adorned with rose petals. Strung up like the national flag to dance forever in a breeze for eyes to gaze up at.   
  
Bucky became a ghost. A predator feared because, like darkness, he is unseen and unheard. Yet he lurks like a sinister spirit, muzzled and leashed by a secret organization that has wrapped it’s tentacles around seeds of intelligence. Espionage.  
  
And yet, the Captain follows the Revenant, searching for the man he thinks he knows.  
  
When the chase is over, and the Civil War has ended, Bucky can taste the blood that he’s poured onto the soil, the sticky, tangy liquid coats his lips to remind him. Freedom only teased him for half a moment before another man stepped in to condition the man back into the machine. After years of trying to root them out, HYDRA found it’s way back in.  
  
_They will never leave._  
  
It’s why he can’t trust himself. _I can’t trust my own mind._  
  
And after what he did to _her_ , the love of his life, the woman that made him feel human, he deserves only the severest of punishments. She had tried to reassure him, tried to console him by saying that her wounds will heal. Skin can stitch itself together. But despite her best efforts, Bucky’s scars will remain as gaping fissures to remind him of what he did. And she may forgive him, ( _“You weren’t you,” she had told him, raising her trembling fingers to cup his cheek, “I know what it’s like to be unmade.” Tears had stained his vision when he replied, “I know, I know.”_ ) He’ll never forgive himself.  
  
So he seeks refuge in the chamber that held him captive for so many years. This time, he embraces the ice. She had kissed him before he left her bedside and he had molded into the softness of her lips. ( _“Vanya, don’t do this,” she had said in a soft whisper. He hadn’t even told her, yet, she knew_ ) And he had departed from her side with the taste of her ( _She tastes like honey and hope and everything he could only dream of_ ) melting over his lips.  
  
The Wakandan Warrior who had once hunted him down was kind enough to keep Bucky protected in the thick, Wakandan jungle. The King was happy to accommodate him, determined to help Bucky find peace in whatever ways he could. While some of the scientists preoccupied themselves, scurrying around in their own worlds, Bucky sat in contemplation, thinking about how Steve would have followed him into the chamber if it weren’t for the woman who held both of their admirations.  
  
Lost in the pool of his own thoughts, Bucky doesn’t realise that the flame-haired woman who had captured his heart is now sharing his lonely company. And he doesn’t realise how desperate he is to hear her smoky voice smolder in his ears until she speaks to him in a low murmur, yanking him out of his thoughts.  
  
“I told you not to do this,” Bucky’s eyes tore away from his feet and settled upon her, her beauty and grace, emerald eyes sparkling with teal green charm. She took the seat beside him and he watches her, surprised to see her moving about after the…incident.  
  
“I can’t trust my own mind,” he responded through glistening blue orbs, “Until they figure out a way to get out what HYDRA implanted in my brain, then, this is the only way.”  
  
Natasha sighs, her wandering fingers tucking a strand of chocolate hair behind his ear.  
  
“There are other ways we can help you,” she says, and her sad, teal gaze drops to her lap. In Romanian (the language they communicated in during their Red Romance), she whispers in a husky voice, “< _I’ve waited so long for you, Vanya. I lost you, only to find you and now I’m losing you again_ >”  
  
Bucky takes her hand in his flesh and bone one, calloused fingers curling around her nimble, slender ones. He gives her hand a tight squeeze and looks at her with adoring eyes he saves just for her.  
  
“< _We will meet again. I’m certain of that. And if you ever need me, you’ll know where to find me. Besides, you won’t be alone_ >” Bucky smiles, tossing a nod toward a pacing Steve Roger. Natasha’s gaze flicks over to the golden-haired soldier, confusion and anguish contorting his handsome features.  
  
Natasha smiles fondly, before returning her eyes to him, and he thinks he sees tears soak her eyes, her emerald orbs suddenly glassy and filled with melancholy.  
  
Bucky’s trained peripherals see Steve approaching like dark, angry clouds storming across a grey stained sky and he sighs, his thumb swipes across Natasha’s palm. He brings her hand up to plant a tender kiss on the smooth surface, keeping his gaze locked on hers. But he doesn’t let her fingers go, instead, he tightens his grasp on her hand just so.  
  
“I still don’t like this idea, Buck,” Steve says, nervously standing before him with his hands shoved in his pockets, “After so many years…”  
  
Steve trails off but Bucky fills in the gaps. He nods, with a knowing hum.

  
“My mind is a weapon Steve. And there are still people out there that want to utilise it. It’s the best thing…for everyone.”  
  
Guilt twists and turns like a swaying anchor in his heart, his thoughts sifting through the past few weeks…the sight of Natasha battling Death itself…He couldn’t deal with it. He could never recover if he lost her to death, like he had lost a part of himself.  
  
“But Bucky-“  
  
Steve swallows back his words when Natasha reaches across to take his hand in hers, holding it firmly. She looks at him with confidence, with the defiance Steve adores, and her lips crack into a small, sad smile.  
  
“This is the first time Bucky gets to choose for himself, Steve. This is his choice.”  
  
Steve sighs. It hurts, yes. But Steve sees the truth intertwined in Natasha’s heartfelt words. He see’s and he understands, because only Natasha would know what its like to have her free will stolen from her with such painful methods of forced devotion. He respects Natasha far too much to fight her.  
  
They hug, holding each other tightly in an embrace that feels as though they're trying to merge each others souls. Natasha's small frame is sandwiched between the two men who have stolen her heart, Steve's head rests on her shoulder while Bucky's fingers tangle in her hair. No one dares to interrupt them, to break their embrace in half. It lingers for longer than it should, to drown out lost and bitter tears that had been bottled up behind old, sad eyes.

Natasha and Steve are still holding hands when they strap Bucky into the chamber and seal the glass door. But before Bucky’s lashes fall to cover his eyes, he sends them both a charming wink and a small smile. Steve gives him a single huff of amusement and Natasha’s lips curl into a sad smile. Frost breathes against the glass and he falls back into that familiar blackness, that peaceful darkness that shrouds him in a cocoon while the world revolves around him.  
  
Bucky will never hear the secret words that pour from Steve’s lips when he’s alone, searching for his long lost friend. He won’t hear the way Steve speaks so fondly of Natasha and their developing relationship, the way she fills the mold in his heart.  
  
Bucky will never see the amount of times Natasha will visit him during her haunted nights, unmasked and completely raw in his presence. He’ll miss the way her hand moves to press against the cold glass, a longing gaze in her eyes.  
  
He will miss most of it, until he is torn from the slumber that embraces him in a tight grip. But he isn’t alone. They were always there with him, in some shape and form.  
  
And they’ll be there when he awakens, waiting for him to return.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, this is the end. I honestly can't believe it's all over. And it feels as though I'm waving my child off to college, my child who survived on my blood, sweat and tears. It's definitely bittersweet to finish my first ever WIP. I'm both sad and relieved. 
> 
> Just wanna say thank you to all the readers,commenters, kudo leavers and just anyone who has taken the time to consider my work. Gosh, you have no idea how much you all mean to me, how you have all kept me going when I just wanted to wrap myself up into a human burrito and sob. Thank you so much for everything. 
> 
> thank you my darlings, and I'll see you all when I start my next Bucky WIP! 
> 
> ~ Savannah

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the always wonderful heyfrenchfreudiana, who encouraged me to post this when I really wanted to curl into a chair and watch Civil War again and again. She also beta'd for me because she is incredible like that. If you're looking for Romanogers Civil War amazingness, read her new fic Cast Off and Purl. It's amazing. Seriously, it is.


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